


So We Meet Again

by 0mile



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Chronic Pain, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of surgery, More Hurt Than Comfort, Not A Fix-It, Prescription Drug Abuse, SKZ reunion, alcoholic side character, mentions of injury, post disbandment, rated M for the following, set in 2030
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0mile/pseuds/0mile
Summary: Six years after disbanding and falling out of touch, Jisung reunites with the rest of the members at their old manager's wedding. However, life isn't the way it once was and there are many things left unsaid. But this long weekend at a fancy hotel might just be exactly what Jisung needs.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 34
Kudos: 314





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

> please make sure you read the tags ^^

_“You know I love you, right?”_

_The car of the ferris wheel comes to a sudden stop with a jolt, swaying slowly as they sit at the top of the wheel, looking over the theme park. They’re higher than Jisung should be comfortable with, but he can’t even be bothered to look down. All he can see is Minho, who’s clenching his fingers around the seat under him, terror on his face._

_Was it Jisung’s words? Is it his fear of heights? Probably both._

_Minho does what he does best and ignores him, staring at the floor, avoiding the windows at all costs._

_Jisung laughs nervously, a tight feeling in his chest, somewhere between anxiety and just straight up dread. “Hello?” He nudges Minho in the calve with his shoe, trying to get his attention._

_Finally, he turns to Jisung._

_“Don’t be silly.”_

Jisung wakes up to something cold and wet hitting his face, pulling him out of his nightmare so fast that it feels like his heart is going to escape through his throat.

He opens his eyes to the culprit, Changbin, crouched down in front of him next to the couch. The weapon is in his hand, a spray bottle filled with water that Jisung used to use to mist his plants before they all died. 

Jisung knocks the bottle out of his hand before he can attack again, and then rubs at his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. “Remind me why I gave you a key to my apartment?”

Changbin grins at that, and grabs Jisung’s glasses from the coffee table, clumsily putting them on his face until they sit crooked on his nose. Jisung doesn’t even bother fixing them, because now he can at least see the stupid look on Changbin’s face in HD.

“Because you love me,” Changbin answers his rhetorical question. “Good afternoon, by the way. We’re late.”

Jisung kicks the blanket off his body and checks his watch, the heavy Rolex shifting on his thin wrist as he turns his arm. It’s already past 1pm. He was supposed to meet Changbin one hour ago.

“Sorry,” he groans, voice cracking with sleep.

“I’m used to it,” Changbin says, poking him in the ribs. Softly. 

Jisung yelps and turns to his side in an attempt to protect his body from his friend. As always, he ignores the pain that shoots through the rest of his body. Finally, he notices how good Changbin looks, already wearing a suit, and hair brushed back neatly. “Did you cut your hair, Bin?” 

“Yeah,” Changbin stands and rubs at his knees, trying to even the folds out of his dress pants. “And you should really cut yours.” Changbin leans down to ruffle his long hair, but his fingers get stuck in the knots. “Ew, actually, you should just wash it for once.”

“I know, I’m just so–” he gestures around himself, at his little island of candy wrappers and dirty socks.

“Busy,” Changbin finishes for him, nudging his foot at the empty bottle of lube on the floor, dirty tissue sticking to the side of it. “I can tell.”

“Shut up, asshole.” Jisung sits up slowly, vision going black for a few seconds as his blood runs to the rest of his body. His spine tingles and it spreads, until the familiar, heated pain arrives. He blinks the dizziness away and asks, “How’s work? How does it feel to work for the devil?”

Changbin puts his hands in his pockets, smug smile on his face. “I could ask the same of you.” 

Jisung finds that he can’t stop staring at his friend. He looks so good that it’s almost annoying, like he’s rubbing his success in his face. From his designer suit to his diamond earrings, his expensive cologne and his limited edition watch which is probably worth twice the amount that Jisung’s is. All of it is perfect and it just makes _sense._

“Come on,” Changbin juts his chin out to hint for Jisung to get up, “we pick up Lix from the airport in an hour.”

Right, Felix is flying in. Jisung almost forgot about that. He tends to forget many things nowadays, so he doesn’t even know if he willingly repressed that or if it just got lost in the maze of his brain. 

Jisung tries to shoo his emotions away as he takes a shower. The hot water feels good on his body, and he wonders how long it’s been since he actually saw the inside of the shower stall. But it’s not like he’s got a lot of dirt to wash off anyways, since it’s also been a while since he’s gone outside.

He goes over the facts in his mind to distract him from the anxiety that’s slowly bubbling up in his stomach. Their old manager, from back in the days, is renewing his vows this weekend to celebrate his ten year long marriage with his wife. And he was so kind to invite all of them to the wedding, a three day event in a fancy hotel somewhere outside of the city. 

Perhaps he doesn’t know how they kind of drifted apart after–after the incident. Or perhaps it’s his roundabout attempt to reunite them. Jisung doesn’t care about his intentions anyway, he just wishes he could’ve come up with a valid excuse to stay home.

The mirror feels cold under his hand as he tries to rub the steam off of it, the glass revealing his reflection slowly. His tired face stares back at him, dark circles reminding him that he is in fact turning thirty this year.

It’s been six years. Six fucking years since their hiatus. Six years since they so desperately tried to get back together and make things work. Six years since they found out that they couldn’t do it anymore.

A lot has changed since then.

Most of them have left the industry, in some way or form. Only he and Changbin still produce. Changbin at a rival entertainment company, which Jisung is too bitter about to say the name out loud, or even in his head. Jisung was lucky enough to get picked up by a small company, run by his childhood idol, which allows him to work from home most days. Which is both a blessing and a curse.

Jeongin… now Jeongin was a whole other story. Somehow that kid blew up even bigger than they ever did as a group. Jisung sees him on TV a lot, on variety shows, stages, or just clips of him signing some auntie’s t-shirt. Who would’ve thought that singing trot could be that profitable.

Jisung isn’t bitter about it, no way. It’s just–it’s a little confronting seeing him be so successful, living the life that they used to share. But now, years later, he’s glad that he got out. He’s realized that there’s more to life, even though he hasn’t exactly found what that ‘more’ might be. But he’s not going to kill himself by looking for this allcompassing answer. 

Hell, one of them already almost died doing so.

He rummages through his medicine cabinet, puts in his contacts and then finds his razor, rust already settling on one of the blades. It’ll have to do, since he can’t show up at a formal event with this much stubble. With shaking hands he shaves his face, and as the dull blade takes away the hairs, it reveals the blotchiness of his skin. He stares at himself for a moment, remembering how easily this used to be solved with a thick layer of makeup.

Oh well, it’s not like there’s anyone there that he wants to impress, is what he tells himself.

Because the opposite is true.

He tries to shake it off, and stretches his neck a bit. Pain shoots down his spine and back up again, making his head throb. His fingers still shake as he leans on the sink.

The voice in his head convinces him that he’s waited long enough, that it’s already past noon, that he’s done well even though he slept through most of the day. So he opens his medicine cabinet again, finds his prescription drugs, and pops a pill.

Changbin raises his eyebrows when Jisung returns to the living room, hair done and wearing a suit. “You still clean up well, Sung.”

“I try,” he says, trying to straighten his tie. It feels suffocating.

“We good to go? Did you take your meds?” Changbin asks, shaking Jisung’s second pill bottle that he found on the coffee table.

Jisung watches the pills dance inside the bottle, bouncing around in the plastic casing, and he zones out for a second. Then he says, “No.” 

Lying comes easy to him nowadays.

With another pill in his cheek and his hands clammy from nerves, he climbs into the front seat of Changbin’s car. It’s one of those sleek, black cars, that he doesn’t know the brand of. He just knows it’s way too big for a short guy like Changbin, and way too big for him to ever find a parking spot. 

But somehow he makes it look good, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick. Jisung reclines his seat a bit to ease the pain. He can tell that Changbin is avoiding bumps in the road, slowing down in corners more than he should, just to make things easier for him.

Jisung hates it. Hates being treated like something fragile, like he’ll break if they shake him up too much. He fucking hates it even though it’s true.

They turn onto the highway and from there on out there aren’t any turns and bumps anymore. Just the car drifting over the asphalt with a quiet zoom. The pills finally kick in, numbing the pain that has spread all the way to Jisung’s toes in the meantime. They make his head heavy, but it’s lovely. Like a warm blanket, soothing him to sleep.

The car rocks softly, and as he slips into a dream, it’s almost like he’s on a ferris wheel.

* * *

_“Don’t be silly.”_

Jisung gasps for air.

“Hyung, don’t be silly!” A familiar, deep voice calls from behind him. 

The familiar dizziness hits Jisung again as he blinks, the world around him slowly coming into focus. The car is still moving, that much is obvious, but there's another person with them now, his warm presence emanating from the back seat.

"Oh, look who's awake!" Changbin says, taking his hand off the gear to punch Jisung in the shoulder, softly.

Always so softly. 

"You missed the airport, Jisung," Felix says, leaning forward and poking the back of his neck through the bars of the headrest, "Changbin hyung almost hit a cab when he tried to park the car."

Changbin turns slightly, but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. "Thought we agreed you wouldn't tell on me, Lix?"

Jisung laughs at that, his chest shaking under the tight seatbelt. He doesn't need a retelling to know how it must've gone. Changbin is talented in many aspects, but parking isn't one of them.

Jisung pulls down the sun visor, revealing the mirror to look at Felix, since there's no way he can turn his stiff body before he wakes up properly. Felix' excited eyes meet him in the mirror, and it's like he's radiating heat, so warm and familiar. Jisung feels a lump in his throat. Felix hasn't aged much. He's just grown into more of who he's supposed to be, no more make up, no more fake. Just Felix and his million freckles, slight sun damage on his cheek bones, and his hair dark and healthy.

"How are you, mate?" Jisung asks in English, mocking an Australian accent.

Felix beams at that. "I'm good! And you?" he says in basic, way too formal Korean, copying the way he spoke to them when he just joined their company over thirteen years ago. 

Jisung huffs through his nose and decides to avoid the question. Instead, he asks, "How are the kids?"

If Felix realizes how he dodged him like that, then he doesn't show it. Instead he takes the bait and rambles on about his job. Jisung loves this about him. When you ask the right questions, Felix will just not shut up about the topic. It's adorable, and comforting. His friend tells him about the new dance studio he and his colleagues opened recently, about the new developments in the field of dance therapy, and how one of the children who he's been teaching dance for three years now finally started talking to him, slowly overcoming her selective mutism. 

Jisung catches the small smile on Changbin's face from the corner of his eye. Perhaps he's feeling the same way Jisung feels. Sentimental, melancholic, safe. Longing for the past, for everything to be how it used to be.

But for now it feels exactly like that. Just like old times. Lost in nostalgia as they shoot across the highway.

Luckily, Changbin can't get them into another parking accident, because once they arrive at the hotel, it turns out they have a valet service. When Jisung stands with his hands resting on his hips, bending his stiff neck to look up at the building, he understands why. Not only is it in the middle of fucking nowhere, hidden at the end of a long and winding forest road, it's also a pretty impressive structure. Standing six stories tall, with high windows and obnoxious pillars on each side of the entrance. Jisung realizes it must be one of those awful American buildings that the fuckers built all over the country after the war. The amount of ivy growing onto the white plaster tells him it's probably been here exactly that long.

Changbin carries Jisung's suitcase. As always, he doesn't even offer to. Just takes it from the trunk of the car and ignores Jisung's outstretched hand. "It's, uhm–" his friend starts, looking up at the building, squinting his eyes at the low hanging sun shining over the edge of the roof, "quite quaint?" 

"I love it!" Felix says, skipping up the stairs with his small carry-on bag. Jisung thinks it's kind of uncharacteristic of his friend to pack so little, even though he's only staying a couple of days. But then he remembers that much has changed after all, that there's parts now of his friend that he doesn't know, bits and pieces of his life that he'll never learn. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, much like the pills he's craving right now. But he promised himself he'd wait until dinner time, so he ignores how heavy the pill bottle feels in the inner pocket of his blazer.

The everlasting lump in his throat gets worse when the man of the hour meets them in the lobby. He whines as his spine cracks under the crushing force of a hug. But he breathes through the pain and closes his eyes, treasuring the moment as much as he can. Joowon has changed a lot over the years, gained some weight, lost some hair on the top of his scalp and added a bunch of wrinkles to his face. But he's still their old manager, still the only staff member Jisung had truly ever felt safe with. 

"You're so skinny, Jisung," he says when they pull away.

"And you aren't." Jisung looks up at him while he says it. God, he thought people were supposed to shrink as they age.

Joowon laughs at that heartily, squeezing Jisung's shoulders even tighter. Then, "I'll have your stuff taken to your rooms, since we're starting dinner soon."

Jisung actually wants to freshen up a bit and also get a look at his hotel room, but Felix and Changbin agree eagerly, ready for some food, so Jisung swallows his complaints. Like he always does.

Hyunjin looks as wonderful as always, leaning back against a fancy chair at one of the dinner tables in the party room. He tucks his long hair behind his ear as they enter the room, the small smile on his lips showing the excitement he's trying to hide. But Felix makes short work of that, running over and wrapping his old friend in a tight hug. Hyunjin giggles and Felix joins him, the sound so wonderful and familiar that Jisung feels light in the head.

When Felix finally pulls away, Changbin holds out his hand for Hyunjin to shake. "Long time no see, stranger," he says, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

"How were your eggs this morning, darling?"

Felix looks between them and then snorts, fondness in his eyes. "I love you guys," he says with the biggest, blissed smile on his face.

Jisung grabs at his stomach, pretending to be sick. "Get a room, you two."

"Oh, shut up, nerd," Hyunjin says, but gestures for Jisung to come closer so he can also hug him.

Hyunjin, just like Changbin, has kept in touch with Jisung ever since they disbanded. It was kind of a buy one get one for free deal since Hyunjin and Changbin started dating shortly after the incident. But still, Jisung likes to believe that Hyunjin would've maintained contact with him even if he didn't share a ridiculously expensive, river view penthouse with Changbin.

"You're skinny," Hyunjin says as he hugs him tight.

"Tell me something I don't know," Jisung speaks the words into Hyunjin's neck, the cashmere turtleneck, that probably came from one of the boutiques he owns, suffocating him.

They sit and catch up, and snack on the crackers and dip that seem to be endlessly restocked by the staff working the floor. Jisung wants to say something about the tacky decor, but it turns out the reason Hyunjin came here earlier than them is because he helped set everything up. So he swallows his words and resorts to people watching as the dining room slowly fills up.

He tells himself he's not nervous, but with every new guest that walks through the double doors, his stomach whoops. Or, well, his body is probably also unsettled for other reasons, but he ignores that. For now.

One of the elderly ladies at the other end of the room gasps loudly, and from that alone, it's obvious who just walked in. 

Like he's in a fucking Hollywood movie or something, their friend is followed by a tall man in a suit, wearing sunglasses and a neutral expression on his face. Jisung huffs a laugh at the sight of the stereotypical bodyguard, and wonders if his friend actually needs one, or if it's just for show.

"Jeongin!" Hyunjin almost drops his glass as he puts it down and runs over to practically tackle their youngest. 

It's weird seeing Jeongin in real life, and not on a billboard selling hair products, or on TV singing his latest song. He looks different like this, his shoulders raised and laughing that goofy laugh of his as Hyunjin presses a wet kiss on his cheek. Jisung can almost see it, can almost see traces of that shy, young kid they started out with way back then.

The staff either do a great job of hiding their amazement of a celebrity being present, or maybe they're just used to it, not even casting an eye on him as they refill their drinks. Jeongin's bodyguard stands against the wall behind them, glancing out of the window every minute. After a while, Jisung stops feeling nervous from his presence, and just tunes him out, listening to Jeongin and Changbin discuss their stupid sports car collection. 

"Is this it?" Jeongin asks eventually, after their old manager and his wife have announced the start of dinner.

Hyunjin looks at the empty seats at their table. "I knew Seungmin couldn't come because he's in America, but–"

"Oh, he's still studying?" Felix asks.

"Yeah, his third master’s degree now," Hyunjin explains, "we FaceTimed yesterday,"

Jisung feels a pang of jealousy at that, thinking of how nice it must be to be able to just pick up your shit and move around the world. 

"Must be nice, to still be in school," Jeongin jokes, but his eyes meet Jisung's and there's an understanding there.

Jisung excuses himself. 

He was supposed to wait until he had a little more than crackers and cream cheese in his unsettled stomach, but he decides that he doesn't care. With some direction from the staff, he finds the nearest bathrooms and swings the door open, banging it against the wall as he does so. The sound echoes through the room and Jisung whispers an apology even though all the stalls are empty. 

The water is cold on his wrists as he lets the faucet just run for a little while, to calm himself down. He finds his pill bottle easily, the motion like a ritual by now. He pops one and then, with more pain than should be humanly possible, he leans forward to sip on the cold water, to ease his throat as he swallows the painkiller. 

All blood in his body races to his head as he's bent over, making him see dark spots and lighting. So he tries to ground himself while holding the sink with both hands, slowly unwinding his spine as he straightens his back. He blinks a couple of times, and when he regains his vision, it's not only him who's staring back at him. 

"Chan," Jisung says, more as a statement than a greeting.

Their old leader's face is pale, almost like he's scared to see him. Hell, he probably is. "Jisung–" 

Jisung doesn't let him finish. By now he can smell an apology before it comes out. So, instead he turns to face him and leans back against the sink with his arms folded in front of him, trying to fake some composure.

"How's the baby?" he asks with some genuine interest.

"Uh," Chan looks thrown off, but then visually relaxes, "She's, uhm–she's four already actually." His friend reaches in his pocket and unlocks his phone, holding it up to Jisung to show him the cute, chubby cheeked child with crooked ponytails set as his homescreen. "She's usually with me on the weekends, and I wanted to bring her, but..."

Jisung waits for him to finish that thought, but he never does.

Chan just stares at Jisung for a bit, like he doesn't know what to say. Then, his eyes land on the pill bottle that he'd set down on the sink. "How's your back?" he asks.

Jisung huffs a laugh. "How's your stomach?" he deflects.

Chan's lips thin into a strained smile, and it's almost polite looking, if Jisung didn't know better by now. "Fair enough," is what Chan settles on. 

"Did you have a hard time finding this place?" Jisung asks, remembering how Chan was never one to use GPS.

"Not really," Chan says, and his next words put a chill to Jisung's guts.

"Minho drove us here."

He barely registers the walk back to the dining room, just following Chan as a million emotions fight for dominance inside his head.

Betrayal? Bitterness? Jealousy? Something else?

Jisung doesn't know which one is winning, but he curses them all. He wishes he didn't have any of these emotions to begin with, one more vile than the last. He wishes he could just be calm and collected for once, not sweating and shaking as he finds Minho sitting in the chair next to Jisung's. 

Fuck.

Somehow Minho looks better than the last time he's seen him. There's a healthy glow to his cheeks, and the slight weight he's put on makes him look young, face no longer plagued by deep, dark circles. His hair is combed neatly out of his face and the silk, black dress shirt he's wearing makes him fit in with the rest of the guys. Fancy and expensive.

"Look who I found," Chan says, putting his hand on Jisung's shoulder as he pushes him forward, the joy in his voice the complete opposite of how he acted in the bathroom earlier.

Jisung wishes he could be as fake as him.

He also wishes his fucking pill would start working already.

Changbin eyes him wearily as Jisung sits down in between him and Minho. He looks even more nervous when Jisung takes Changbin's half empty glass and downs whatever expensive champagne is left in it. Changbin knows he's not supposed to mix alcohol with his meds. He knows about Jisung's complicated past with Minho too. Changbin knows too much.

"You look good," Minho says and Jisung wants to vomit.

Instead, he clears his throat, tries to clear the lump right out of it, and says, "Everyone's been telling me otherwise all day long."

"Guess I just have low standards," Minho says, a playful glint to his dark eyes.

It takes a second for Jisung to realize that it's a joke. It's just been so long since he's been around him, he's no longer used to his sense of humor, to his deadpan sarcasm. But God, has he missed it. So he allows himself to enjoy it and laughs. The moment he laughs, Minho's face lights up, a small but proud smile on his lips.

Maybe if Jisung surrenders to it, pretends that what's in the past is in the past, if he forgets what Minho used to mean to him, then he can enjoy tonight.

Maybe he can forget everything after another glass of champagne.

Maybe he can–

Wait.

Why is he staring at the ceiling? Why is he lying down on something soft and fluffy? And is that the sound of running water?

"This is the third time I see you waking up in one day."

Jisung turns his head to find Changbin sitting next to his hotel bed. "You passed out after the second course," he explains, "Jisung, you know you shouldn't–"

"Yeah, yeah," Jisung's voice cracks as he says the words, throat dry, "I shouldn't drink with my meds."

He reaches for his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, already feeling his upcoming headache. All the sounds around him are too loud, too invasive. Even the sound of the water running in the background enters his head like a chainsaw. "Who's in the shower?" he asks.

"Your roommate," Changbin answers. Jisung turns and finds worry on his face. He hesitates, but continues, "Chan's sharing with Lix, I'm with Hyunjin obviously. Jeongin's bodyguard has to stay in his room, so–"

The shower turns off, and then there's silence. 

Changbin gives him a supportive pat on the leg, an apologetic smile on his lips, and then leaves the hotel room. 

Jisung doesn't even have time to compose himself before Minho comes out of the bathroom, wearing a robe with the hotel's name embroidered on the chest in golden letters, toweling at his hair. "Oh, you're alive," he notes, sounding disinterested.

Jisung tries to sit up, but his body doesn't let him, too stiff and painful to move. "Barely," he answers. 

Minho sits down at the foot of the bed and watches him for a bit. Then, with an annoyed frown, "So you're not gonna go dancing with me tonight? I heard the clubs are great around here."

That makes Jisung feel a bit better. At least Minho doesn't treat him like he's fragile, like he's about to break. "Oh yeah? Wanted to party with the forest spirits?" he jokes, knowing fully well that there aren't any clubs within a fifty kilometer radius.

"Heard they have a better alcohol tolerance than you," Minho jokes, and somehow, the jab doesn't hurt. 

"I hate you," Jisung says, and he doesn't mean it. At least he thinks he doesn't. 

He watches Minho for a bit again, as another wave of dizziness crashes over him. Minho just stares back like he's challenging him to break eye contact first. Jisung likes to convince himself that he doesn't know this person, that they're starting anew, but when they joke around like this, it's hard to not dwell on the past. It's hard to not remember how things once were.

How he once almost thought that he was Minho's, and Minho was his.

He wants to ask Minho why he and Chan came here together, if they kept in touch while Minho ignored the rest of them. He wants to ask him if he ever meant anything to him, if all the kisses and cold shoulders were just to play around with him, like a cat pesters its prey before putting it out of its misery. He wants to ask him so many things, but his vision darkens again, and then it's all quiet.


	2. Saturday

_ "Close your eyes." _

_ "Why?" Minho asks, half cautious and half annoyed. _

_ "Trust me, just do it," Jisung urges him on, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him on his bed, eager for his friend to cooperate already. _

_ Finally, Minho complies and closes his eyes. His eyebrows are still stuck in a confused frown, but Jisung likes it that way. It's cute.  _

_ It gives him the illusion that Minho is just as terrified as him. _

_ He holds his breath and leans forward, feeling the knot in his stomach twist on itself, tying into an even bigger mess. But he can't give up now. So he doesn't, and closes the gap between them. _

_ As soon as their lips meet, Minho inhales sharply. But he doesn't pull away. He doesn't pull away! _

_ He just sits there and allows Jisung to kiss him. _

_ Which Jisung does, but only for a little while, because he has no clue as to what he's doing, has no idea what comes after. So within less than a minute he pulls away. _

_ Minho opens his eyes, lips wet and parted, his face still twisted in surprise. There's a quiet between them, and it's heavy. Jisung chews on the inside of his cheek, feeling like the ground is about to be pulled away underneath him, like he's gonna crash through all twelve stories of their apartment building and end up in the parking garage.  _

_ Then, finally, Minho's lips turn into a kind smile, and he says, "Your turn. Close your eyes." _

Jisung wakes with sweat on his back, his shirt absolutely drenched as it sticks to his skin, pressed close against something warm. It takes a while for him to realize where he is, the sunlight hitting his face from the wrong angle. He forces his eyes open and finds the sun shining through hotel curtains. The warm object against his back moves slowly, breathing in and out. 

Minho.

Jisung jolts, moving away from him like he's burned. Despite the pain, he turns, looking at the other side of the bed. 

Minho is curled up into a fetal position, his back turned against him, sleeping soundly. With a dizzy head, Jisung looks around the room and it's only now that he notices there's just one twin bed in the room. He feels bad that he hadn't noticed before, that Minho was forced to get in bed with him after he so selfishly passed out. 

But that worry gets pushed away as soon as that familiar itch starts. It's a voice, at the back of his mind, reminding him of how much pain he's in. It reminds him of the anxiety he's feeling, the swooping of his chest, and how it could easily be over so soon. Before he knows it, it's the only thing on his mind. He needs it. He needs it more than air, more than fixing things with Minho, more than he needs sleep. Fuck, at this point he doesn't even care if it doesn't end his pain. He just needs it.

So he crawls out of bed, his body stiff and pain ever present like a whiny voice in a pop song. He finds his blazer on the floor by an armchair, and thankfully his pills are safely tucked into the inner pocket. The name of a stranger is typed on the label, mocking him. He covers it with his thumb as he twists the cap off, popping a small round tablet in his mouth and swallowing it dry. It gets stuck in his throat and he almost gags, but with a couple of punches to his chest it goes down. God, when was the last time he drank water?

He shivers, truly feeling the pain now. It's like the scars on his back are burning, tingling and spreading the familiar, horrible ache all over his body. It's pretty obvious to him that if he stands up right now, he'll pass out. And he just doesn't want to wake Minho up with that, so he does what he does best and crawls to the bathroom. 

The nice thing about hotels is that they never run out of warm water. So he just sits there, in the bathtub, hot water crashing down on him from the shower head until his pill starts working and the shivering stops.

When he's finally numb enough to get out, he feels so much better, great actually. There's that nice spike of confidence he always gets as soon as the chemicals are absorbed by his body, a feeling that today is gonna be an amazing day. He's kind of excited to see Minho. It feels like he can properly face him now, man to man, not shrouded by a cloudy haze. But when he swings the bathroom open, the bed is empty, Minho nowhere to be found.

Instead, he finds Jeongin as he walks down the steps into the back garden of the hotel. Jisung wraps his arms around himself, trying to find more warmth in his thin sweater as he watches Jeongin, his younger friend balancing on his hands in the damp grass, doing some advanced yoga pose. Jisung comes to a halt next to Jeongin's bodyguard, the man silently watching as well, still wearing a suit, and burning through a cigarette. The man doesn't even look alerted by Jisung's presence, but then again, he doesn't consider himself to have that much of a threatening aura, or even an aura to begin with.

"Can I have one?" he asks, holding out his hand before the nameless man grabs his pack from his inner pocket. Jisung leans in to see if he might be hiding a weapon inside his jacket as well, but gets distracted by the pack of smokes in his face. 

He takes one and lights it, lungs burning and head dizzy. They both watch Jeongin switch into another pose. The kid doesn't even look bothered by the bees and other insects buzzing around him, racing between the wildflowers that are scattered over the small field. He looks focused, serene. 

"Didn't know you smoked," Jeongin says after he finally wraps it up and walks up to them.

Jisung exhales through his nose, forcing the smoke out in two streams, like a fucked up sad little dragon. "I don't. It's just the only way I can take a shit nowadays."

Jeongin smiles, dimples forming in his cheeks as he scratches his stubbled chin. "Good to know." He holds out his hand to the bodyguard, much like Jisung did earlier, so he half expects the man to hand him a smoke as well. What he doesn’t expect is for him to reach into his other coat pocket and handing Jeongin a small, silver flask. "I won't tell if you won't," Jeongin says as he takes a quick swig from it. It's not a question, nor is it an offer. It's a threat.

Well, shit.

Jeongin takes another sip. "Will you join the game later?"

Jisung flicks the burning end off his cigarette and pockets the bud. "What game?" he asks, rubbing the ash off his middle finger. 

"Capture the flag," Jeongin explains, handing the flask back to his guard, "All the aunties and uncles are also joining I think." Jeongin puts his hands on his hips and leans back, spine popping loudly as he heaves a content sigh. Then, his eyes widen. "Oh, wait. You probably can't run around with your–"

"I'll join," Jisung interrupts him quickly. "I feel great today, so it's no problem."

He'd like to come back on that statement as soon as he's dragged along and into the middle of the forest that surrounds the hotel. Each climb over a tree trunk has his body aching and each sound is way too loud for his buzzing brain. But he keeps on going, trying to fit in and not be the weak one out. 

They get divided into two teams, and some old lady on his team squeezes Jisung's cheeks, telling him he looks like her grandson, but skinnier. On the other team, he spots Minho. Their eyes meet, but only for a second. Minho seems uninterested. Well, that makes two of them. 

He only catches half of the explanation, or even less. Something about flags, borders, tagging, and even prisoners? Jisung can't focus with the way his ears are ringing. Next to him, Jeongin yawns loudly, which makes them both laugh. He did not expect things to be so comfortable with his old roommate, since he assumed he changed the most. But it turns out it's alright, and that it's his current roommate he should be worried about.

"Han Jisung." They're in the back of their team's territory now, red flag planted in the dirt. "Do you promise to defend this flag with your life?" Felix' voice is serious, his hands on his shoulders, squeezing him tightly,

“But I wanted to run,” he argues.

“You will,” Changbin says, quickly rubbing some sunscreen on his arms, since he showed up late and half-ready as always. “Me and Lix will hide around here as an ambush, but if someone grabs the flag you go after them, okay?”

“Okay, whatever,” Jisung agrees. He doesn’t want to argue with Changbin, especially not now he doesn’t seem like his usual overprotective self. So he just sits down on the damp log next to the flag. As he takes out his phone, Felix and Changbin disappear in between the trees. Somewhere in the distance he hears the sound of a whistle, just as he finds out he doesn’t have enough 7G to download a fucking movie onto his phone. Great. 

Without anything else to do, he just pops another pill and shuts his eyes. He listens to the sounds around him as the medicine slowly dissolves in his stomach, entering his system and making him feel at peace. He hears an uncle scream somewhere, and one of the bride’s sisters yell to the left of him. But no one comes close to where he is. He guesses their flag must be hidden really well. 

And suddenly, it’s all too quiet. He cocks his head, eyes still closed, and then he hears a rustle nearby.

His eyes fly open and then Minho is there, right in front of him, a blue cord tied around his bicep to show he’s on the opposing team. 

Jisung stands, vision darkening for a moment as the blood in his body tries to find his brain. Minho moves closer, slowly. Or maybe it just looks slow with the way Jisung’s mind is having trouble keeping up. Everything is so slow.

He knows he can tag Minho, making him a prisoner, but his body just doesn’t want to move. It’s like he’s stuck in quicksand, limbs heavy. And yet Minho just inches closer, looking unafraid of him. How is he planning on stealing the flag if Jisung is standing right in front of it? He knows he can tag him, right?

“What are you–” Jisung starts, but then Minho leaps forward, tackling him onto the soft forest floor, pinning him down by his wrists.

There’s electricity in his body, pain everywhere, even through the buzz of his meds, but Jisung loves it. It’s been months–years even since someone has treated him like this, without being careful of his body, without any precautions. Minho’s grip on his wrists tightens and it hurts, it hurts, and Jisung just laughs. He can’t help it, giggles just bubble up in his chest as Minho stares down at him with an accomplished look on his face.

Jisung barely even registers Hyunjin stealing the flag behind him, running away screaming in victory. He doesn’t care about this stupid fucking game, he doesn’t care that he failed. Hell, he doesn’t even care that he’s gonna have to spend the rest of the day in bed to recover.

He feels alive right now and that’s all that matters.

* * *

And spend time in bed he does.

He steals a few mouthfuls of rice at the lunch buffet, but after that he finds his way upstairs, body sighing at the comfort of the hotel’s expensive mattress. It’s not his intention to close his eyes, but he feels like he has just run a marathon, so he thinks it doesn’t hurt to get a short nap in.

When he wakes up, he’s in the hospital.

He blinks at the ceiling, bright lights blinding him, the beeping of machinery loud in his ears. His throat hurts, like it’s been rubbed raw, and he tries to swallow around the pain but it only makes it worse. It burns. There’s a needle in his arm, medicine slowly dripping into his veins. It confuses the fuck out of him. He doesn’t remember going under like this, he doesn’t–fuck, is that a tube in his dick?

_ “Don’t move,”  _ a voice says next to him. He ignores the words and turns to find Minho, his chair pulled close to the bed, light brown hair messy from sleep. Wait, Minho’s hair was black just now, how–

_ “Your parents went out to eat, but I–”  _ Minho swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear,  _ “I stayed.” _

Ah. Jisung gets it now. This is a dream. A memory in a dream. 

_ “How did the surgery go?”  _ his dream self asks.

Minho’s face falls, and he closes his eyes for a second, his long lashes casting pretty shadows on the already dark circles under his eyes. Then, he opens them again, the sweetest smile on his lips. 

_ “It was a success,”  _ he lies.

Jisung startles awake for real this time, shocked by the sound of something falling over. He catches sight of Minho’s annoyed face, staring down at the cup with instant coffee powder he just tipped over. Behind him the electric kettle clicks off, the water at its boiling point. “Sorry,” Minho says, noticing he woke him up.

“Minho,” Jisung’s voice is groggy, and he’s confused, messed up by his dream. There’s too many feelings in his body right now, and if he doesn’t clear them up, he feels like he might actually go insane. “Do you–” he turns to his side, hissing through the pain, and continues, “do you think the group would’ve still been together if it weren’t for my back?”

To others, it would seem like Minho ignores his question, but Jisung knows better than that. He knows the subtle frown on his face, the way he sucks his bottom lip in as he pours the hot water onto the powder, stirring his coffee as steam wafts up.

Just like in his dream, Minho pulls out a chair and sets it up next to the bed, just so he can look Jisung in the eye as he says, “I think you’re an idiot for even thinking that.”

“But if it weren’t for me–” Jisung lets the thought die. The idea alone is enough to bring back that painful lump in his throat.

Minho smells his coffee and grimaces. Then, he continues, “It was our choice to go on hiatus while you recovered. What happened after that was all of our faults. If we maybe tried a little harder, then…” Minho looks over Jisung’s shoulder, staring out the window as his thoughts wander.

Jisung remembers it all like it was yesterday. The back pain that only got worse by the day. Finding out it was herniated disks that were the problem, the reason why he wasn’t getting better by himself. And then the surgery that was supposed to fix it all. A standard procedure, in and out of the hospital in no time, should have had him feeling better within months.

But the surgeon was overworked, squeezing too many surgeries into his tight schedule to keep his hospital at top performance level. The nurse told Jisung he was lucky he was still able to walk, that he was still alive, despite the surgeon’s fuck up.

Their company would’ve probably sued the hospital, would’ve gotten millions to repair the damage of permanently scarring one of their top idols.

That is, if Jisung would have told the company. But he didn’t. The pain was worse than ever, but he just sucked it up, stretching out his last bottle of pills as Chan tried to get them back to work again. He could see how much it meant to Chan, so he couldn’t ruin it for him with another surgery.

But things had changed. To this day, he still can’t pinpoint what it was, but there was tension. They didn’t work well together anymore. Got into little fights, disagreed on basic things. All seven of them fought as Chan just stood there and saw his dreams crumble in front of him. Perhaps Minho was right. Perhaps if they all just sucked it up, like Jisung did with his pain, then maybe they could’ve made it work.

Then maybe Chan wouldn’t have been so stressed that his body burned a fucking hole in the side of his stomach.

It was Changbin who suggested it. As they crowded inside the hospital room, watching Chan sleep after the surgery that fixed whatever damage the ulcer caused to his insides. It was he who suggested they should throw the towel in the ring. To quit at the peak of their career instead of, as he put it, make an even bigger fool of themselves.

Hyunjin agreed immediately, and it was almost like he was relieved, as if he had been thinking the same thing. Then came Seungmin, saying it would be reasonable, and then Jeongin. Minho held Jisung’s eyes for a minute and then shrugged, saying he’d do whatever made the rest happy. It was Felix who held on, who got mad at them for even talking about it without Chan there.

No one asked Jisung for his opinion.

One look at him and they all knew he was more than ready to retire. 

Jisung is brought back to the present by Minho slurping loudly on his coffee. He moves onto his back, staring back up at the ceiling again, not wanting to look at Minho as he asks, “If it’s not my fault, then why do I feel so guilty?”

“Like I said,” Minho leans back in his chair and puts his socked feet up on the bed, holding the warm coffee mug close, “because you’re an idiot.”

Jisung huffs, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light. “I wish I was. Idiots don’t think this much.”

Minho doesn’t answer that. Instead, he wiggles his feet further onto the bed until they’re tucked under Jisung’s body, between the hollow of his back and the mattress. They sit in silence for a long time as Minho drinks the last of his coffee. It’s nice, comfortable even. Jisung feels so at peace that he almost forgets about the unspoken past between him and Minho.

Almost.

* * *

Dinner is pretty much the same as the night before, only this time Jisung is smart enough to stay away from the glasses of champagne that are being handed out like it’s water. No one at their table takes his example tho, instead getting tipsy before the main course. Except for Minho, who shares a bottle of mineral water with Jisung. He doesn’t ask why, but somehow he likes to think it’s a gesture, a courtesy towards him.

One can dream.

Somewhere during the main course, Felix asks, “Minho hyung, are you still working at the academy?”

“Yes,” Minho shifts next to Jisung, dapping at his mouth with a napkin. ”Actually, I own it now.”

Sounds of surprise and awe echo around the table. Even Jisung is shocked, but there’s more to it. Of course he’d heard from Hyunjin about Minho, how he took on a job as a dance instructor at one of those pretentious idol academies, the ones where rich kids went to get prepped for idol auditions. On one bitter night Jisung sank low enough to look it up on the internet, disgusted to find how much they charged for a single vocal lesson.

And now Minho had taken over? He owns the academy? That explains the expensive shoes. And the watch. And the small, but showy diamond earrings. 

Jisung feels hurt that this big change wasn’t even enough for Minho to reach out to him.

“What about you, Lix? Anything changed since the last time we spoke?” Ouch. So Minho and Felix had been talking? Jisung’s stomach twists on its own, so he just forces another spoon of bland mush down his throat to keep it settled.

“Actually, I’m engaged,” Felix says with the biggest smile. Jisung didn’t know that either. He feels so left out. Guess this is what happens when you don’t respond to people’s texts.

Minho leans in at that, trying to hear Felix better over the noise of the dining room. “Oh? What’s her name?”

“ _ His  _ name is Ryan,” Felix corrects, pulling out his phone and flipping through his gallery. “He’s a professional rugby player.” He holds up his phone and shows them a picture of a big, muscly guy wearing short shorts and covered in mud. His smile is so bright that it complements Felix well. 

From looking at that alone, all bitter feelings slip away from Jisung. Seeing Felix this happy, showing off a little actually, makes him happy as well. If anyone deserves to be lucky in love, it’s him.

“You better have us fly in for the wedding,” Changbin says, leaning back against his chair to loosen his belt a bit.

“Would you all come?” Felix asks, voice small and eyebrows upturned. Wait, does he actually believe they wouldn’t?

“I’ll be there,” Jisung is the first one to say it. He knows a flight that distance will be absolute torture for him, but he’ll suffer through it. He’s been a bad friend for too long now. 

Everyone else agrees, showing their excitement for it. Even Jeongin pulls up his calendar on his phone and schedules a whole week off for next summer. Chan has a small smile on his lips that doesn’t disappear for the rest of the night.

Next to him however, Minho is quiet. All the way up until dessert, when Jisung finally notices the way his shoulders are shaking. It’s almost as if he’s shivering, but that can’t be right, since it’s such a nice warm day. “Are you cold?” Jisung asks, quietly enough that the others can’t hear.

He can see how Minho hesitates, but then he leans in and whispers, “I think I’m getting sick or something.”

The admission does a funny thing to Jisung. He knows Minho has never been the type to admit to his weaknesses. He always came to practice even when he had a fever, danced through a sore ankle, and even in his worst moments he would shrug and brush it off, like his pain didn’t matter. The only one he’d ever admit his struggles to, quietly, when no one was watching, was Jisung.

The realization of that still being true makes Jisung’s chest swell.

But he pushes that away. For now. Instead he casually takes his blazer off and throws it over Minho’s shoulders, to keep him warm. Across the table, Hyunjin notices it, a discreet smile on his lips before laughing loudly at something Changbin said, pulling the attention away from them.

Minho doesn’t thank Jisung for it, but he doesn’t have to. Jisung doesn’t need words to know he’s grateful. 

It’s only when the plates get taken away by the staff that Minho says, “Guys, I’m tired so I’m gonna head up.”

No one complains, they all know better than that. Jisung considers following him up as he watches Minho leave, but he thinks that Minho prefers to be alone right now. Jisung knowing that he feels bad is one thing, but him witnessing it might be a tad too much. So Jisung just sits around as some tables get cleared out to reveal a dance floor. The music gets turned up and people cautiously shuffle onto the dance floor while some drunk aunties barrel their way onto it. Jisung thinks it’s kinda sad that Minho is missing out on the dancing.

God, why can’t he stop thinking about Minho?

He wishes for anything to take over his mind instead as he watches his friends kill it on the dance floor. He wishes for anything but the familiar ache in his bones that quickly overtakes his mind. Not only the ache, but it’s the nerves again, swirling around in his stomach like they’re on their own fucked up dance floor. 

Cold sweat settles on his neck when he realizes his pills are still in his jacket. The one he gave to Minho. 

Fuck. 

His mind doesn’t even allow him to control his body, it just moves on his own, despite the pain. He waves a goodbye to Felix, the only one who sees him leave, and just doesn’t look back. The elevator taking him upstairs is too slow. Too fucking slow. He slams the ‘door open’ button when he gets to his floor. It just doesn’t fucking open fast enough.

He fishes the keycard from his back pocket, because at least he was smart enough to not put that one in his jacket. The lock beeps and he’s inside, not even trying to be quiet for Minho who must be passed out by now. It’s been an hour so he must be sleeping, right?

What greets him makes him stop dead in his tracks.

It’s been so long since he’s seen Minho smile like this. So bright and so happy, like he doesn’t have a care in the whole world. His pupils are so tiny that they’re barely visible, hidden under heavy, sleepy eyelids. Minho holds up something in his hand. It’s Jisung’s pills. It’s his pills.

“Jisung–” Minho stretches out his voice, sounding uncharacteristically whiny, “something tells me these aren’t the ibuprofens that the label says they are.”

“You took one,” Jisung concludes, voice cold. He eyes the pill bottle, can’t take his eyes off it. Those are his.  _ His.  _

How dare Minho just take one? He wants them back, he needs them back. He wants to fight Minho for it, he wants to fucking punch him.

Wait, what? 

Minho throws the bottle at him and Jisung catches it, feeling safe the moment it lands in his hand. What the hell was he thinking just now? Why would he be mad at Minho? Who the fuck would even think those messed up thoughts. Minho couldn’t help it, he probably had a headache. And the label indeed carries a lie, so he can’t blame him. 

Jisung locks himself up in the bathroom, dropping his back against the floor as he shakes. He needs a minute. He needs a moment to be alone and think. But he can’t think for shit right now. Can’t do anything. So he does what comes natural and unscrews the lid of the pill bottle that he’s squeezing so hard in his hand. 

It only takes fifteen minutes to work, but it feels like forever. When his nerves are calmed and his body stops hurting, he can finally think clearly. His head is clear now, so he understands that his anger earlier was because he needed the pills, and because Minho had them, which his messed up brain misinterpreted as… as a threat to his habit.

Minho.

He jumps to his feet and runs out of the bathroom, finding Minho more asleep than awake. That smile is still on his lips though. God, he must be having the time of his life, Jisung thinks. He still remembers how good the pills felt when he just started them. 

“My head doesn’t hurt anymore,” Minho says as Jisung tries to move him on the bed, pulling his heavy body and propping him up against some pillows.

“I bet.” Jisung wipes Minho’s bangs from his forehead. They’re a bit damp, but other than that he looks perfectly fine. He’ll be alright, Jisung realizes.

He feels so awful for being selfish earlier, for being so fucked up. Minho could’ve needed medical attention, he could’ve had an allergic reaction to the meds and Jisung would’ve been too hyper focused on the pills to notice.

It feels weird to be taking care of someone else for once, but Minho just lets him, pliant as he is right now. Jisung puts on something on the TV, something to keep them busy as he lies next to Minho, watching his chest rise and fall, studying his face as he laughs at some awful comedy show. He just needs to be sure that nothing strange happens in the four hours that the drug takes to wear off. 

And wear off it does, eventually, when it’s already past midnight.

Jisung thinks Minho is asleep so he shuts off the TV, hoping to get some rest himself as well. He hasn’t been this tired in so long. 

Minho’s voice is soft, but it’s the only thing he hears in the quiet room when he asks, “Jisung, what are those pills?”

This time Jisung can’t lie. He owes him that much. So he just says it. Out in the open. No lies.

“Morphine.” 

“Jesus Christ. Jisung–” Minho sits up on his elbows and Jisung can feel his judgemental stare, can feel it on his face, but he can’t look at him. Not yet. 

“I can’t stand the pain, Minho, I can’t.” Saying the words out loud hurts more than the pain he’s talking about. Fuck, he needs another pill. Everything hurts. 

Minho is quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in. Then, “Changbin told me you can get another surgery. One that fixes this.”

Jisung will have to deal with Changbin later, but the hurt of his friend talking behind his back is a side note right now, because Minho has just latched onto his biggest problem. So he might as well tell him the whole truth, since Minho has already seen his ugliest side.

“I think–” he bites his bottom lip, struggling with finding the right words, “I think that if it doesn’t–if it doesn’t fix me…”

Minho puts his hand on Jisung’s. It’s weird. It stirs a memory that he doesn’t want to revisit right now. But he lets himself enjoy it, lets himself feel safe in his hold. So he continues.

“I don’t think I could live with the pain while knowing I’ve tried everything to fix it.”

The silence is heavy, and Jisung feels like he’s drowning in it. But then Minho squeezes his hand, asking for his attention. Jisung finally turns to face him. Minho still looks a bit out of it, eyes slow and face flushed. But he’s trying, Jisung can see that.

“Thank you for telling me,” Minho finally says, and then, “thank you for trusting me.”

Jisung wants nothing more than to run away, to run away and never come back. He hates feeling this raw, feeling like there’s sandpaper on his skin, trying to rub away his outer layer and get to the very core of him. But he’s never been the most self-preserving person, so he does the worst thing he could possibly do.

He kisses Minho.

Jisung knows he shouldn’t have, but it still hurts when Minho’s hand lands on his chest, softly pushing him away. It’s the kind of hurt Jisung is familiar with, what he’s comfortable with by now.

What he can’t handle however, are Minho’s words, swinging him right back into the past.

“Don’t be silly,” Minho says, and he has the nerve to smile while saying it. It’s like he’s patronizing him, like he knows better than ‘silly’ little Jisung.

Jisung fucking hates it.

“You’re cruel,” is what Jisung settles on, and he’s up before Minho can argue. 

Jisung doesn’t forget to bring his pills, not this time, but then he’s gone, out the door. He hopes his friends are still awake, because he doesn’t know where else to go. It’s Changbin who opens the door, book in hand and reading glasses low on his nose. 

“Jisung? It’s one in the morning, are you–”

Jisung breaks. 

He’s always been told he’s been an ugly crier, but right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t bother to hide his face as he sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks messily. Changbin pulls him inside and Jisung rubs at his nose, trying not to get snot all over himself.

Hyunjin doesn’t ask any questions, he knows better. His friend just lifts up the blanket and invites Jisung into bed with him. Jisung climbs onto the mattress, ignoring Hyunjin’s sleep shirt. Seeing the ‘SKZ 2022 tour’ logo hurts too much right now, he can’t have that on top of everything. So he just lets Hyunjin wrap his arms around him and pull him close, hushing him as he exhales into his hair, so warm. 

Hyunjin feels safe, Hyunjin is good. Jisung is gonna be alright. 

He’s gonna be alright.


	3. Sunday

_ He looks at the contact in his phone. It’s not like he actually needs it anymore. He knows the number by heart. Besides, he and Minho don’t actually speak anymore. _

_ Sometimes it feels like Minho never actually liked him at all, that he just used him to pass the time. Hell, he’d said it himself. “I don’t like Han, he just likes me.” Sure, they’d both laughed about it afterwards, an obvious joke. _

_ But once you start repeating things in your head, they become stronger, until they completely overtake you. It’s like it’s the only things he can remember now, all the times Minho pushed him away when Jisung wanted a secret kiss, all the rejections, all the annoyed sighs. It’s like he’s completely forgotten about all the times Minho initiated it, or the way he’d look at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. Or when he confessed that he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with him. _

_ So he deletes the contact. _

_ He doesn’t need it anymore. _

_ He doesn’t need him. _

Jisung wakes up pressed between Hyunjin and Changbin, almost suffocating. But it’s nice, and he could lie here forever, if it weren’t for his phone buzzing in the pocket of his sweats.

He’d been so out of it last night that he hadn’t even bothered taking it out as he fell asleep in Hyunjin’s arms. God, his eyes still feel swollen. He blinks hard as he reaches inside his pocket. He finds his pills first, and takes one, because priorities.

With some effort he manages to break free from Hyunjin’s grip and rolls onto his back, unlocking his phone.

**< unknown> 6.08am**

\- we need to talk

**< unknown> 6.19am**

\- please

**< unknown> 6.30am**

\- meet me on the roof. i left the escape door open.

Jisung checks the time and finds the messages are only from a few minutes ago. He doesn’t need to think hard to realize who they’re from. Hyunjin snores softly next to him and Jisung watches him sleep for a moment, weighing his options. He wonders if he should wake up his friend and ask him what he should do, but he’s done bothering people for now. 

So he climbs out of bed and goes to the top floor.

There’s a chilly draft as soon as he leaves the elevator, and he belatedly realizes he should’ve worn a jacket. But there’s no going back now. He finds a brick holding the escape door open and climbs through the opening, his small body fitting through the gap in a way that’s almost laughable if it weren’t so sad. 

The gravel under his feet announces his arrival, so Minho turns his head from where he’s sitting, close to the edge and his knees pulled up to his chest. He doesn’t look like he got much sleep.

Jisung approaches without words. When he’s next to him he peeks over the edge. It’s dizzying. The sun isn’t up yet so he can’t see everything, but they’re up so high. Why isn’t Minho terrified? What the fuck is happening?

“I got over my fear of heights,” Minho explains, as if he can read his mind.

A lot can change over six years, Jisung figures as he sits down next to him. The gravel hurts his butt, but he ignores it, staring at the orange glow of the sun rising over the forest instead.

“That’s–that’s good. It was your biggest fear, wasn’t it?” Jisung tries to sound friendly.

“It wasn’t,” Minho says, voice strained. This makes Jisung’s head turn. Minho’s eyes are dark and heavy, locked on him. “My biggest fear has always been you.” 

Jisung’s mouth falls open, speechless. The suggestion of that alone is ridiculous, and the more he thinks of it the less it makes sense. Jisung? Scary? He hoped he would make Minho feel comfortable, happy, safe even. Not terrified. 

“You’re confused,” Minho observes. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Jisung huffs, picking at one of his nails to keep his hands busy.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more than I wanted you, Jisung,” Minho struggles saying the words, Jisung can see that, but he continues anyway, “do you know how terrifying that is?”

Jisung hums, because he knows fear. He knows it.

“I pretend to not get attached to things, so I can make it seem like it hurts less when I lose them,” Minho continues.

“I know,” Jisung says, because he does. It’s one of the few things Minho has ever trusted him with.

“Jisung–it was so hard to pretend with you.”

Jisung hums again, and blinks hard, tears escaping his eyes. But he doesn’t interrupt. Not yet.

“It hurt less to just slowly drift apart,” Minho says as he finally breaks eye contact, looking at the sun creeping higher on the horizon, “I wouldn’t have to be scared of breaking your heart.”

“You flatter yourself too much,” Jisung jokes, wiping a stray tear off his cheek.

Minho turns to him again. His smile is sad. “Come on, isn’t this the face of a heartbreaker?” Then, “I never forgot about you though. I thought about you every day.”

Jisung just sighs, and then lets his lungs fill themselves with the crisp, morning air. He thinks about it, or at least he tries to. There’s just too many things going on in his head, and in his heart. “We’re both fucking cowards,” is what he settles on.

“You got that right,” Minho agrees.

The sun finally fully rises over the trees, shrouding them in a golden glow. It’s warm and blinding, pulling the ache from Jisung’s bones and from his heart. He thinks he could sit here forever, just like this, enjoying this moment in idleness. 

Minho’s hand on his cheek is almost as warm as the sun, his lips on his even more so.

Jisung is the one to pull away first now, the touch of Minho burning on his lips. He wishes he wasn’t so numb from the pills, he wishes he could feel it more.

Minho looks at his lips, and then back to his eyes. He looks scared, so scared and vulnerable. Jisung remembers that he loved him, and that he has never stopped loving this man. So he just smiles, at a loss for words, no idea of how to bring this across.

His friend seems to understand, because suddenly it’s like they go back ten years in time, to when things were much simpler, and yet somehow much more complicated. Minho closes his eyes and says,

“Your turn.”

* * *

“Jisung!” Hyunjin catches him in the hallway after he gets dressed for the wedding ceremony, pulling Jisung into the hotel room by his tie. 

Within a second a phone is being held up to his face, and Seungmin waves at him through the screen, smiling brightly. Jisung waves back, a little speechless. He did not expect a FaceTime ambush.

“How are you?” Seungmin asks, and his voice lags a bit with the way his mouth moves. His friend hasn’t changed much either. The only new thing about him is a tuft of grey hair on the side of his part, that he probably never decided to dye again. Their stylists cursing Seungmin’s genetics to grey early probably made him love that little detail about himself. His friend tended to be stubborn like that.

“I’m–” Jisung pauses, genuinely thinking about it for a moment. Then, he decides, “I’m alright, I think.”

“You look happy!” Seungmin’s words shock him.

Does he? Hyunjin giggles at the confusion on his face and nods at him, confirming what Seungmin said. Jisung doesn’t believe it, because it isn’t true. He’s not happy. But he’s… he feels lighter than he did the day before. He feels like there might be hope for him. And the fact that someone thinks he looks happy, warms him beyond belief. He loves it. He wants it to be true so bad. He finally thinks he might deserve it.

Apparently Seungmin wasn’t just calling them to check in, because Hyunjin actually brings him to the ceremony hall, holding the phone up so their friend can be there as a guest as well. Felix excitedly chats with him, updating him about his life with the biggest smile, until some aunties hush him for being too loud.

Minho is almost late, uncharacteristically so, but then again, he’s had quite a morning. Jisung gets a funny feeling in his chest when Minho tells Changbin to move seats so he can sit next to Jisung.

They don’t say anything to each other, but Jisung gives him one look and realizes they don’t have to.

Hyunjin cries during the ceremony, because of course he does. Which in turn makes Felix cry too. Jisung huffs a quiet laugh when he watches Chan give him an awkward, supportive pat on the shoulder. He can’t see if Jeongin is crying, since he’s wearing sunglasses. Weirdo, Jisung thinks fondly.

Jisung doesn’t cry, has shed all his tears already, but he’s still moved. Their manager looks happy, and his wife even more so as they renew their vows. Jisung wonders what it must feel like to be with someone for ten years. How it must be to have that other piece of your puzzle, to be complete.

Almost on instinct he lays his head on Minho’s shoulder, instantly quieting his thoughts as he watches husband and wife kiss each other.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. There’s food, so much food. And small talk, way too much small talk. Jisung thinks he can’t stand to hear another old person tell him about their own marriage before drowning himself with champagne until he knocks out.

Minho keeps his distance a bit, which is nice. He has always been good at that, gauging Jisung’s social battery and staying away if needed. Jisung knows they still have lots to talk about, lots to work out if they want to–God, he doesn’t even know what he wants at this point, what he could ask of Minho. But for now it’s good like this. They’ve been patient for six years, so they can take it easy for a bit longer.

Minho and Chan leave first, at the end of the afternoon, since they both have work early in the morning. Chan gives everyone a tight hug, ears flushed from embarrassment as he promises to reach out to them soon. Jisung doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth, but Jisung decided that even if he’s not, he’ll try to make contact first this time.

He’s nervous about saying goodbye to Minho, but it turns out he doesn’t have to be. Minho winks at him from where he’s standing by the open door of the driver’s seat of his car. It’s cringy and kind of awkward, but it makes Jisung laugh as he winks back at him. The gesture is light, easing all the heaviness from his heart. Jisung loves that about Minho.

Saying goodbye would’ve felt final, but this–this gives him hope, like an open ending to a story.

Jeongin lets his bodyguard get his car, since he doesn’t trust the valet with it. When an obnoxiously orange Lamborghini rolls around the corner, Jisung understands why. Changbin whistles at it, calling it sexy, and Hyunjin dramatically rolls his eyes.

They all agree to meet again soon, and Jeongin promises them tickets to his next concert. He shares a look with Jisung, and there’s understanding in it. And then with the roar of an engine, he’s gone.

Felix is already loading his carry-on into the trunk of Changbin’s car when he stops him. “Actually, Lix, would you mind if Hyunjin drove you to the airport?” Changbin asks.

Jisung is halfway through climbing onto the passenger's seat already, and looks back confused as Felix closes the trunk, making the car shake. They had decided Changbin would bring Felix to the airport and then drop Jisung off home, so why the sudden change? He doesn’t get to ask about it though, because Felix leans into the car to give Jisung a hug goodbye, and then gets into Hyunjin’s car.

They drive off and Jisung’s stomach is unsettled.

Changbin gets behind the wheel next to him, face tense. He doesn’t dare to ask him what’s wrong, because his friend is never like this. When he’s angry, he usually just tells him what’s going on, not the type to bottle things up. Or at least Jisung thinks that he isn’t.

They drive in silence and it’s awful. Changbin’s hands are tight around the steering wheel and it stresses Jisung out. Nerves just roll around in his stomach as his hands begin to shake. And then, there’s that annoying feeling again, pulling all his attention to the pain in his body, tricking his mind into thinking it’s getting worse by the second. So he does the only thing he can, and takes a pill.

Changbin takes a shaky breath and changes lanes. And then again. And again until he’s pulling over into the emergency lane, stopping the car completely.

Jisung turns in his seat and watches him, scared. He’s never seen him like this. Changbin still has his hands on the wheel, but his eyes are closed as he tries to calm his breaths. “Are you gonna kill me, Bin?” Jisung jokes, to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.

“I can’t do this much longer, Jisung.”

He doesn’t say what ‘this’ might be, but he doesn’t have to. Jisung knows.

Panic settles in his chest. He needs Changbin. More than that, he needs Changbin’s family, who own a hospital, who have the power to keep handing him his meds. He knows it’s illegal, that it’s technically fraud with the way they fake the labels and misplace someone else's drugs. He knows that Changbin practically has to beg his parents to keep on providing his pathetic friend.

He never wanted to even imagine how guilty Changbin must feel to take part in his best friend’s self destruction. But now, Changbin turns to him, eyes red from holding back tears, and he can see it. Can see all the pain he’s causing everyone around him. How he’s dragging everyone down.

“My father told me there’s a new surgeon,” Changbin’s voice cracks, “this is the last option I’m giving you, Ji. After this, I’m–” Changbin’s chest shakes with a quiet sob, “I’m out.”

Jisung nods, feeling his bottom lip shake. But he holds it in. He doesn’t deserve to cry right now.

Changbin starts the car again and wordlessly pulls back into traffic, leaving it at that.

Jisung lets his head drop against the window as his pill slowly sets in, calming his nerves. He watches the light poles cast their glow against the night sky, the lights blending into a string of colors with the speed they drive past them.

He doesn’t think he can do this much longer either. 

He doesn’t want to hurt everyone around him anymore. He’s sick of living in fear, of being idle, stuck in time like glue. He wants people to tell him he looks happy, and when they do, he wants it to be true.

It terrifies him. The thought of that being a possibility. Of allowing himself hope, allowing himself progress. Fuck, the most terrifying part of it is a future where he doesn’t have any pain anymore. No pain means no pills. He can’t get away with calling this a habit anymore. His fucked up moment with Minho last night proved as much. It’s an addiction. 

The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He feels gross, absolutely disgusting. He wants to be clean, in more ways than one.

But more than that, he just doesn’t want to be terrified anymore. Of anything. Ever. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, seeing a message from an unknown number. His chest warms at the content of the text. He adds the number to his contacts again, a little heart behind the name. Not that he has to, he knows the number by heart, but because he wants to.

He pockets his phone without replying. Soon, he promises. Not now, but soon.

“Changbin,” he asks, voice small and unsure, “you can put me in touch with that surgeon, right?”

His friend doesn’t say anything, but the smile that breaks out on his face tells him enough. He reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. Not softly this time, not one bit careful. No, his grip is so hard that it hurts, even through the morphine.

Jisung thinks he’s finally ready to feel again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3 please leave a comment with your thoughts


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